“That was an adult problem.”
“It was never your job.”
“I’m sorry.”
Chloe stood there for almost a minute.
Ryan didn’t touch her.
He didn’t rush her.
He simply waited.
Finally, she reached forward.
And took his hand.
I watched them walk down the path toward his car.
Chloe pushed her bicycle.
Ryan carried the bright red emergency bag.
At the car, Chloe turned around.
“Mama! I’m going to ride without training wheels!”
“I know you are!”
She waved.
I waved back.
I still don’t know whether our marriage can ever be repaired.
That is the truth.
We attend counseling now.
Sometimes separately.
Sometimes together.
Some weeks I think maybe.
Most weeks I think probably not.
Ryan lives in a small apartment across town.
Not near Dana.
Near Riverside Park.
He sees Chloe on Wednesday evenings and every other Sunday.
And every time they go somewhere, he tells me exactly where.
Leaving now. Riverside Park.
We’re here. She’s on the twisty slide.
Heading back. Home by four.
He has never been late.
That first Sunday, Chloe came home at 3:52.
She burst through the door with grass stains on her knees, a small scrape on her elbow, and the biggest smile I had seen in weeks.
“Mama! I did it!”
“You did?”
“I rode all the way around the pond without training wheels!”
She threw her arms around me.
“Daddy ran beside me and then he let go, and I didn’t even know!”
Over her head, I saw Ryan standing on the porch.
He held Chloe’s bicycle in one hand.
The red emergency bag was still clipped to his belt.
He didn’t come inside.
He didn’t ask to.
“She really did it,” he said quietly.
“All the way around.”
I nodded.
